Long Categorized Poems
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Suicidal Ideation March 30th, 2022 linkedin...
to mein kampf insync with mine body dysmorphia
After reading articles
published within April 4/11 2022
of The Nation
I challenged the efficacy
taking prescription medication
categorized as SSRIs
and/or SNRIs.
Unpleasant side effects
such as earth shaking dreams
and/or especially hefty weight gain
linkedin with former
comprising my daily cocktail
of approved prescription medication
courtesy nurse practitioner.
Deliberation about courting death rooted
throughout mine psyche
fueling sinister chortle
at least since bout with anorexia nervosa,
but... maybe ginned blood,
sans umbilical cord transfused in utero aortal,
though long since recovered, the intractable,
haunting specter, sans grim reaper
intertwining within every fiber of this mortal
rooted, grounded deep, and branched out
into each nook and cranny portal.
Said notion provoked,
when made painfully aware
youngest daughter (aged twenty three)
plagued with similar thoughts,
damn genetics did maliciously engineer
clutching telephone while
seated at edge of chair
did apologetically, despairingly,
grievously... did air
pestilential, penitential, plenipotential... scare
re: distraction and understandable fear,
she might unwittingly plunge
into hopeless abysmal despair
falling prey into irrevocable
deathly hallows lair,
though kudos for her
from me, this sole Harris heir
to communicate, (albeit
hesitantly) into mine ear
suddenly wishing thy
Shayna Punim to be near,
but residing (about three hour drive
southeast of Portland, Oregon)
with my kid sister, attentive to welfare,
a sibling whose persona
doth show tender loving care
and concern, this papa
felt reassured there
would be every action taken
with sixth sense to beware
lest progeny exhibits
pointedly obvious lurching career
dramatic slide in tandem
with Old Rotten Gotham
into behavioral sink
emergency measures sibling
immediately would commandeer,
hence somewhat relieved thee dear
beloved progeny receptive to hear,
this dada expressed his unconditional love,
and grateful psychological intervention
offspring boldly did declare
indicative professional help volunteer
really asserted necessary to stave off
how dice throw of fate unfair
to said lass, whose demise,
would abruptly kill this sonneteer!
Horoscopes defy what the mind already knows
Sagittarius categorized, Catholically inclined
Religion forces Signed eyes to reconsider deliverance
Archer status on the dance floor
Lips poised clothing crunk'd
High heels dipped in ghetto couture
Street loved, Sirens seem to posess me with Hip-Hop streaming
Cold blue steel pressed against my thigh
He makes me forget Good Girl analogies
Marxist ideologies and paying the water bill
Electric cars and global warming
Catholic tendencies clash with knee-jerk leftist remarks
Minorities have a propensity to be Democratically oriented
Shall I take it to the highest point of disregard
And let Disneyland dreams give way to worldly needs
Oh God
May we philosophize before his muscles take me over
Smiles reconcile what was once sober
Drunk off uncertainty
"I live for the moment" lies
We all need a little healing
I forget my repented chants to forgive sins
The more educated I become the harder it is to blindly believe
Faith is a tired charade that I must play
Center stage, bright eye'd and readily paid
I believe but must I rely on what the homily says
The bank notes the eagerness in charity of diluted masses
I trust in the Lord
Everyone needs a mentor
To relinquish safety in the face of uncertainty
Is something revolutionary
Am I to fall in love with guilt as my ancestors before me
Will Jesus still love me if i'm not sorry for smiling
I'm not sorry at all for being
Lividly in love with living
But was it T.S Elliot who was so declined to meet
The basic devotion in his poetry
Or was it me who denies faith everlastingly
I'm already twisted with these bottles of opiated, over the counter conviction
Priests who color me darker then I was before I dipped my hand
Into sanctified waters
Questions procede answers that are left for dying
The Vatican with daily mantras force me to facilitate fate
Is this the right religion for me
Why isn't faith enough, destiny binds me to unforgiving roots
Relatives in Zoot-suits trying to mix it up
The fine lines between being revolutionary and being impious
Are fading so slightly from the clear cut minds
Or is it mine whose mind is cut from something similar to sacrilede profanity
Surely we shall see
With prayer in my hand
the devil at my feet
Slavery is not the end of atrocities
Suffered by minority communities
The every day systematic sway
Of bricks piled against you like
A wall of pain
So many bricks
The millions murdered for simply being
Who they were born to be black brown red
But of these I speak of what I know firsthand
The professional personal political assassination
of the collective black character is so deep
It is astonishing ingrained and denied to be a thing
For instance because there was a black president
In this racist country people say there you have equality
Nope
A system built on the back of blacks
That promotes hate of anything black
Saving a few teachers pets
Does not save the souls of those
Still being oppressed stressed and put to death
Schools are the battleground as well
We are not even teaching the truth freely
Jim Crow is alive and well look it up
The systems of government are used and abused
To keep people from getting the American Dream
The poor displaced and disgraced
Taxed to the max
While the rich enjoy perks less tax relax
When I walk in a store I am sized up and categorized
followed by security I may get service
But only if I look affluent enough and
Sometimes not even then
Depending on the store and area
When my brother walks down the street
Do you clutch your purse
No really
If he doesn’t style himself just so
Is he perceived as less than
When he goes to the bank for a loan
How often will he be denied
Or unfairly penalized
It’s deeper than slavery
We are still here suffering despite being
Called American we are treated
Not even as well as foreigners
Who seek asylum
Where is that for the brown red black people
It’s not being able to fairly compete for jobs
When corporate snobs want degrees and experience
But how do you get one before the other
When you don’t qualify for loans
Or go in so much debt for college
That the dream is deferred
Or you get the job but the pay
Is poor because you can’t afford the degree
Never mind you are doing the job perfectly
So you must get multiple jobs to eat
I’m so sick of saying that marginalized
Systematic racism in America is more than what happened then it is what is happening today now
And by the looks of it what the future holds
As the systems of old have not been replaced!
It is in giving to others that we find peace of mind,
the ability to trust our instincts without severe hesitation-
For we are all just free will and kindness combined,
and we’ve all been bound by the blessing of creation.
My car broke down last year without the means to pay for it,
my husband and I were in a tough spot that time of year-
I prayed for guidance and help, and I must admit,
for days I shed many a self-pitied and frustrated tear.
I hadn’t been on Poetry Soup for many days; I needed rest,
but I thought that writing may help ease my anxiety-
I looked at the winners list and found out I won a contest,
the prize was one hundred dollars, I was so happy!
I cried calling the car shop to get my car fixed that night,
I asked how much it would end up costing after all-
He said, “ninety-eight dollars to fix everything right”,
I smiled and that’s when I realized God answered my call.
F.J. Thomas gave me the honor of receiving first place
in the “Concrete Crush” contest I didn’t think I’d win-
Somehow word spread, and the other winners embraced
my situation and felt they needed to help from within.
Thank you to Winged Warrior and Paul Callus also who gave
to me their winnings; such a gift that I can't ever express,
all the gratitude in my heart; for they really did save
me from the constant worry of money and distress.
With the extra winnings I was able to buy turkey for dinner,
my daughter’s favorite meal that she had been wanting-
I may have taken first, but those three were the true winners,
providing my family with a fixed car I hadn’t been counting.
We receive random acts of kindness each day without realization,
and it is in receiving that we feel the need to give to others-
My family thanks you all so much for your gift of alleviation,
good people such as you I will never be able to find another.
*This is a rhyming poem even though it had to be categorized as free verse.
Sponsor said it was okay to use other forms.*
Random Acts of Kindness Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
March 1, 2018
I saw her there….A little girl, a baby really… so sad, so alone. How very much I
wished to go to her, to comfort her and to hold her against my cold dead flesh.
Yes….I am capable of compassion. I am even capable of love, although I do not give
it freely. Standing there, I seem but a shadow to the mortals that come and go…yet
this child ….this object of innocence seems to perceive me….seems to know who I
am. She speaks to the darkness where I stand watching her, how very perceptive
she was. Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…. Yes… the song from
Phantom of the Opera. The songs of that story are very appropriate when
considering the events….She told me of her hopes, dreams, fears, confiding in me as
a child normally would to a parent. When she was hurt, whether a scraped knee or
a scraped heart, it was me, the shadow that heard of it. Her “parents”, and I use
the word ironically, had no time for her. To them, she was a duty, an encumbrance,
but I discovered I treasured every moment that was shared with me. The nights
come and go. The weeks become months, become years and this girl grows. Pretty
becomes lovely becomes beautiful. The child that trusted the shadow in the corner
as a confidant grows into a young woman, and I realize I love her, and I always
have. Sing once again with me, our strange duet….And so once when her heart was
torn, and she felt she was dying inside, I could not stop myself…I sang to her. The
child that I felt in my heart as my daughter had always known I was real…but this
was a confirmation. I sang…softly to this beautiful child. I sang of darkness and of
love. Of the love of a father for a daughter….but also that of lovers, for I am no
mortal man, and the love of my heart cannot be categorized as others do. She froze
unmoving, listening not only with her ears, but also with her spirit to the songs of
my heart….of my soul. A blackness so profound that others would be repelled, yet
she found a soft warmth there that comforted and entranced her. She found then a
magical realm within my songs.
Form:
I lived at a time, in my personal opinion, when the men in my culture were not the brightest. They preferred boys over girls but used the females to give birth to their pride and joy, their greatest delight. It was not enough to be less desirable in gender, but females had to compete with other females.
The Biblical record indicates that I gave birth to Jacob's only daughter Dinah and six of his twelve sons. My mother's name is not recorded, but you know me as Laban's daughter and Rachel's sister. My name is not as common as 'Mary or Martha' but perhaps you know someone name Leah. If you do, then you will not mind taking the time to read about me, a lady name Leah.
Case in point. Rachel was my younger sister, and the two of us were given in marriage to the same man. I never held it against her as it was no fault of her own, but because of her beauty, I was not loved by our husband as was Rachel. In a sense, our drama was another form of the beauty and the beast. In other words, my sister was respected and appreciated, but I felt being taken along for the feast. Can you imagine how I felt that first wedding night when Jacob discovered that I was not Rachel? That's right. I was used as a ruse by my father and rejected by my husband. Some things can only be healed by God.
God saw that I was not loved and over time, he moved lovingly on my behalf. There might be a natural principle that says, "Hurt people hurt other people", but there is a higher principle that enables hurt people to heal hurt people. One can rise above 'that loveless feeling', that casted life of both parental and marital abuse. Sometimes we are categorized and treated as the 'least of these', but God sees us differently and allows us to rise like yeast. I was loved by God more than any parent or husband ever could.
081520PS
How I wished I had been granted to know,
The depth of the unused words, the hallucination of a happiness with purpose.
My labor, how much has dissipated into the void, in the vast unknown,
All the zeal, all the toil – a deaf echo, a terrified phantom, and a fasted feast.
The pains take shape in a carnival of weightless gestures,
And the deluge of stress caught me in a round dance of confusion, enveloping me like a mist.
A shattered heart and sleepless nights, empty theaters under the celestial vault,
You thought it insignificant, your eyes did not see, did not feel my struggle, a spectacle of phantasms.
Like an echo, my question resonates, "Am I worthy?"
And you, wielding words like black magic, become the sculptor of ambiguity,
"No one is simply categorized," you tell me with jeweler's delicate speech,
And yet you remain the transformative substance when other children call you to gather around the fire of life.
It is a bitter paradox, this theater of shattered promises,
I'm weary of being your artist and craftsman, yet receiving only the empty echo of your expectations.
My fatigue is a bird's feather fallen from flight, lost in the tumult of the night.
I wanted you to understand, to feel deep down and comprehend the cuts you crafted,
Each scar - an odyssey, traversed with the desire to touch your presumed sanctity.
How insignificant for you was any failure, any deviation from your desired line of triumph.
You say "I love you," yet you remain a silver-hearted idol,
An indifferent witness to my great drama unfolding on the stage of expectations.
The child within me, forever trying to be sculptor in your eyes,
Perhaps I once was that naive artist, but now...
Now I know better, the blaze of hope has turned to ash,
The palace built from dreams is now a ruin under the sun's dying rays.
That arc of love from long ago, now knows better its conceptions and regrets,
And my step through the fair of disappointments has become scenery for the unwritten plays.
Can you imagine being chained in a ship and taken to a strange land against your will?
Can you imagine you and yours being shackled and sold to farms to work the land?
Can you imagine being whipped for just saying something or looking the wrong way?
Can you imagine your wife or daughter being used as brood mares to create more workers?
Can you imagine your loved ones being categorized just like any other livestock?
Can you imagine finally acquiring your freedom after a lifetime of imposed servitude?
Can you imagine a country founded on the ideal of freedom denying it to so many?
Can you imagine being hated and treated unequally just because you looked different?
Can you imagine being hunted by people in hoods with bibles and crosses in their hand?
Can you imagine being in fear for your life just for walking someplace or talking to someone?
Can you imagine seeing your father or son in a hangman’s noose swinging from a tree?
Can you imagine not being able to use a bathroom just because you were the wrong color?
Can you imagine having to scold your child for using one of those bathrooms?
Can you imagine being told that you cannot ride in a seat in the front of the bus?
Can you imagine being told there is no vacancy at a motel when you know there is vacancies?
Can you imagine people not serving you at a restaurant because you were not the right color?
Can you imagine people crossing the street because they feared walking by you?
Can you imagine having feelings for someone but not acting on them because of others?
Can you imagine being gunned down by those who are supposed to protect and serve?
Can you imagine being sprawled out on the ground with someone’s knee on your neck, struggling for every breath, asking for your mother, knowing the life is slowly draining from your body and wondering why?
Can you imagine?
Germane generic geeky guy
five sixths enroute
to complete lxiv luxurious Earth orbits
experienced chronic, demonic,
physiologically hegemonic...
irritable bowel syndrome
without shadow of a doubt,
yet aforementioned plight
the following lines of poetry
will not be about
problematic posterior plague.
After contemplating discomfort
linkedin with said medical condition,
yours truly realized aftermath
of Hurricane Ian concerning
those who weathered category storm
suffered a fate much worse
subsequently, I took a brief hiatus
typing lines of impossible
to understand questionable verse
challenging proclivity of one
yawping wordsmith being terse
yeah right you probably think
crowning glory upon
mine nonestablishmentarian literary endeavors
hands down majority of anonymous readers
would immediately qualify
his swiftly tailored prolix harried style
unquestionably, obviously, and irreverently
imposing expansive vocabulary as perverse,
no doubt hurling expletive donned curse
at me with every stinging breath they took.
The previous writing endeavor
attached catchy title
at outset intent to brook
unspoken protocols analogous to river,
which overflows banks swallowing
entire metropolitan areas
categorized as biblical flood
believed to occur once
every five hundred year
exhibiting impact greater
than storied facebook
(as personal side note,
said creation a markedly popular
social media platform)
influencing great swaths of populace
allowing, enabling, and providing
user trademark friendly look,
which ineluctably draws innocent naif
into webbed wide world,
where coders fashioned
innocuous virtual pitfalls
many a stalwart devout
online interoper figuratively snagged
courtesy tempting virtual,
lock, stock and withal
ingenious (some might chime in –
nefarious, opprobrious, pernicious...)
neigh vee tailhook.
ART
A esthete, I am for I love, love and appreciate works of art and
B eautiful things including alluring women and good looking men.
C reativity of the artists on display, being appreciated and critiqued.
D ance, movements matching the speed and rhythm of the music.
E xpression of emotions, self-expression through body movements.
F ine art, collective term for art created to be beautiful, not functional.
G oals are set by true artists to stay motivated and grow.
H armony and contrast, one of the principles of art.
I magination could be expressed in ideas, feelings, words.
J ewelry making, designs are created by compare and contrast of metals.
K een sense of perception creates an outstanding piece of art work.
L iterature, written works of superior or artistic merit.
M usic, art of arranging sound to create form, harmony, melody, rhythm.
N atural talent is a gift, lack of it can be overcome with determination.
O bjective abstraction, a non-geometric style of abstract art.
P oetry, when spoken out loud is a performance art, like dance, music, acting.
Q uattrocento, the artistic styles of the late Middle Ages, in Italy.
R eflection of innermost emotions could produce aesthetic objects.
S kill and imagination create art that is beautiful or expresses ideas or feelings.
T heatre, collaborative form of performing art played before a live audience.
U nanalyzable creative power and unique and individual emotions in visual form.
V isual arts like painting, drawing, sculpture, photography are visual objects.
W orks of art are categorized as visual art, literary art and performing art.
X ylophone, xylorimba are percussion instruments use for dynamic compositions.
Y outh art, young people taking part in creative, cultural, expressive activity.
Z ackenstil is a zig zag or jagged style used in painting, sculpture, stained glass.